My exams are over, and I have officially left school until I (hopefully) start Uni in the autumn! I hope you aren't growing tired of this story because updates shall be far more frequent. And to AlphaBadWolf, thank you so much and don't worry. There is still a long way to go before we hit the end.
'When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.'
~ Ode on a Grecian Urn, John Keats (1820)
Chapter Thirty-Six - Truth is beauty?
"How is he?" Kat leaned over her desk, nearly sliding out of her chair in her eagerness to hear Pitts' response.
"Asleep. Finally," a muffled moan sounded from beneath his arms where he had buried his head, "I'm exhausted. Meeks is my best friend and I feel for him, I really do. But a man needs sleep and I'm not getting any while he sleep talks and sneezes all night."
"In other words, he's sick," Neil chimed in.
"In other words, yes."
"Poor guy."
"Poor guy? More like lucky, he got to miss Doctor Cameron's health checks," Charlie scoffed, throwing down his pen.
"It's his way of helping, Charlie."
"Neil, I love Cameron. He is the sole reason I'm not failing trig," Kat said, "but my throat was fine until he poked around with a thermometer. We need to lock him out of the science cupboards before he causes more damage."
"Sorry Neil, but I can't go through that again," Knox agreed apologetically. "It was humiliating."
"Oh. Come, on," Neil gazed around the group but found no sympathy, "none of you were asked about your sexual history. He saved that delight for me, God knows why-"
"Because no one else indulges him," Nuwanda interrupted. "Tell him to shove it up his-."
"Where is he?" Knox cut in.
"Talking to Keating about his last grade," Kat supplied, "they were outside when I got here."
"I'm just saying we should be nice. He's trying to show that he cares" Neil concluded, pushing off the bookshelf he had been leaning against. "Maybe he was right. I've a headache since I woke up."
"Wait. You didn't tell him that!" Charlie called after him. "Neil, you hypocrite!"
"Self-preservation," Neil shouted back, slipping into his seat as the classroom door opened for Cameron and Mr Keating to enter.
Kathleen tried to smother her laughter, lifting Nuwanda's sketchbook - which she had been looking through before Pitts' appearance - and hiding her face behind it.
"He-what," Charlie spluttered, "I can't believe it. That fraud."
She shook her head, amused by Neil's revelation. Instead of responding to Nuwanda's sulking, she continued to flick through the pages while Keating prepared the lesson. She leant back against her seat and paused when her eyes fell upon a drawing on the next page. Careful grey lines constructed a sketch of what appeared to be a society meeting in the old cave. In the centre was a fire, surrounded by logs which supported images of each member. Neil and Todd were depicted in the centre, reading a book which she assumed was their sacred book of verse. On their right was a girl resembling herself, dressed in a coat and silky pyjama pants, her long hair was swept to the side and she was smiling at the boy next to her. The boy was playing a saxophone. At their feet was Knox stoking the fire and Cameron was depicted on the opposite side doing homework. Behind him was a tall boy playing cards with a shorter, bespectacled boy. Across the top of was banner with 'carpe diem' etched in elegant letters.
A small, grey, lead smudge appeared on her index finger as she traced the letters. She pulled her hand back, stunned by the intricacy. Closing the book, she turned around and handed it back with a smile. "They're good. I like the one of Neil on stage" she praised one of the first ones she has seen. Somehow, the loving pencil strokes of the cave seemed too personal.
He shrugged, a half-smile on his lips.
"Today," announced Keating, drawing all eyes to the front, "we will be examining the work of John Keats upon the request of a student. And yes, before you ask, my parents did take the opportunity to honour him with my name."
Neil caught Kathleen's eye and made a thumbs up behind his back.
"The first thing we need to know about Keats, is his difference to the other poets on our course. Miss Murray, I've been told that you are the expert today."
Kat quickly retracted her thumb from her non-verbal reply to Neil, sitting up as the attention shifted onto her. "I think 'expert' would be hyperbole, Sir. But I do know that Keats spent most of his life training for the medical field and qualified for an apothecary licence before he dedicated his life to poetry."
"Absolutely." Keating paced in front of the chalkboard "tragically, Keats died from tuberculosis at the age twenty-five. Just four years into his career as a poet." He paused, "in four short years he achieved what many could only dream of, even if his efforts were recognised posthumously. A fate many artists share. "
As interesting as Keating's lessons were, Kat found her attention drawn to Neil who was enraptured. His fingers gripped the edges of the wooden desk and his whole head turned each time Keating walked the length of the room.
"Today I have a debate to wake up your gloomy spirits," he clapped. "Keats claimed in both his poem Lamia,* and reportedly in life, that our knowledge of science ruins our sense of beauty. The more we understand, the less we appreciate. I realise this is a divisive and rather controversial view. I have my own opinion, of course. But what about you? Students of both science and the arts? Is Keats correct?"
Cameron's hand shot up immediately, "I agree with the claim. Science reveals the purpose of everything in our universe. Nothing is aesthetic or meaningful, contrary to many beliefs. There is no true, inherent beauty, only the value attributed by mankind. In a similar fashion to the dwindling of legend, folklore and religion in educated societies, beauty is now a construct of capitalism, not an appreciation for natural wonders. This is simply due science closing the gaps in our knowledge."
"Aren't you a romantic soul." Charlie's sarcastic drawl sounded from the back, causing Cameron to flush. Eyes sparking with rage, he whipped around to face his antagonist.
"Since you are so quick to judge, why don't you make a better argument?" He let his words hang for a moment. "Come on, wise guy. Has your wit suddenly dried up?"
"Calm it down, gentlemen," Keating moved forwards, placing his body in the space that had provided the hot-tempered young men with a direct view of each other. "However, he does have a point, Mr Dalton. Would you be so kind as to share your own thoughts on the matter?"
He shrugged, feigning nonchalance despite the tension in his body. "Beauty has been the driving force of literature and art since the beginning of time. To deny the existence of beauty would be foolish. We know nature and people are beautiful, and we know science explains our attraction with evolutionary instincts, pheromones, symmetry, colour and anything else proven by science to be attractive to our species. Having an explanation doesn't lessen our appreciation. If it had, art and culture inspired beauty would have died out long ago. If anything, society exploits beauty for capitalist gain. We don't care about the science behind it unless we are scientists ourselves."
Knox made a noise of appreciation that deepened Cameron's frown.
"Careful, Richard," warned Charlie with a razor-sharp smile. "You'll be stuck with permanent frown lines if you continue to be shocked by the reality that I'm not a dunce."
Keating sighed loudly. "Mr Dalton, I would rather not supervise you in detention tonight. Please refrain from further inflammation."
He threw his hands up, "sorry, Sir. Perhaps we should hear your opinion, it could be the deciding vote."
"That," Keating pointed at him with a click of his fingers, "is a much better idea. Speaking from experiences on this earth, I believe that we only appreciate beauty with candour once we understand the hardships endured by a bud before it could flower in spring. In the same vein we value tales of rags to riches because we as a species have a sense of awe for an underdog. We hope for frogs to become princes or maids to be lost princesses. The beauty was always there but with success we see it with a clearer lens. The understanding cleans our glasses and we are able to perceive the truth. Truth, after all is beauty," he quoted, "and beauty is truth."
"Ode on a Grecian Urn," Kat whispered.
"Keats?" Charlie echoed, "damn, Keating. We can't beat that."
Mr Keating looked upon the stunned students, "everything in life comes full circle," he said. His eyes sparkled with fondness for the youth, "and so should your essays."
XXXX
"Neil?" Todd's voice was a soft as his tentative touch on the taller boy's knee, "are you sure you're feeling alright?"
His eyelids remained closed against his ghostly complexion, his body slumped over the table, "m'fine," he responded, his syllables colliding as he leaned into Todd's gentle touch, and drifting off once more.
Todd studied the ragged rise and fall of the lanky teen's chest. He listened to the harsh, congested breathing before his eyes flickered quickly over to the rest of their friends, with the exception of Meeks, who had been on bedrest since last night, and Pitts who had gone to bring him lunch.
"Neil," Cameron poked the unresponsive boy with the end of his ruler, "go to bed. You're infecting the rest of the senior class."
With a moan, Neil grabbed Todd's hand and pulled it towards him as he shifted into a more comfortable position, eliciting a squeak from its owner.
Huffing, Nuwanda rose from the sofa and hauled Neil up to his feet despite his tired protests. "No. Clearly, you're not fine. Let's get you to bed before you do something you'll regret."
"I guess the meeting tonight is cancelled," Knox watched the three boys leave the common room. "It's probably for the best. I wonder who will succumb to illness next?"
"Pitts," Cameron said easily, rooting through his bag for a sheet of loose paper. Upon finding one, he began to draw out a betting list. "You know I don't place monetary bets but it's obvious. He's spent the most time around the first victim."
Kat blinked her sore eyes. After struggling to read the same sentence for the third time she closed the book and focused on the conversation.
"Nah," Knox shook his head, grabbing the pencil from Cameron. "It'll be Todd. Neil gets clingy when he's sick and that's with us."
"Before I match Knox's bet, I need to know that no one in this room is about to down." Fraser flung himself into the vacant space next to Kat on the sofa. "Anyone got something to confess?"
Various boys around the room voiced their denials, satisfied, Fraser slapped a dollar on the table. "Put me down for Hopkins, boys. The loser has been coughing since sunrise."
"Count me in!" Called Russell from across the room, " and Francis thinks another three will be down by dinner."
"Only three?" Kat grabbed the pencil from Knox, "considering three went down overnight and Neil's just left there will likely be more."
Fraser leaned forward to examine the growing list of bets, "and how much are you willing to stake on that?"
She frowned, waving him out of the way. "I'm putting a dollar on five by tomorrow morning."
"Well then, we'll see how many of us make it through chemistry," he grinned, offering her a helping hand up which she took with a grimace as her vision clouded. The sudden pressure in her head causing her to wobble. "Are you alright?" Fraser muttered, eyeing his friends who were busy straightening their loose ties for afternoon lessons. "You look a bit peaky."
Letting go of his hand, Kat nodded. "Got up too fast. I think I might be dehydrated."
"If you're sure," he said lowly, casting her a worried look as he joined his friends. Knox watched the exchange in silence, shaking off Cameron's attempts to discuss the odds of winning the senior class bet they had unwittingly created.
They had almost reached the chem lab when he ducked beneath the staircase, telling Cameron they would catch up in a minute. Kat followed him into the darkened crevice. Her confusion was written plainly across her face when Knox turned to face her with a look of pure bewilderment.
"Since when are you and Fraser the best of friends?"
"What?"
He waved his arms in a wild gesticulation, "that-that thing back there!"
"The bet? We were all participating, Knox." She rubbed her temples, "we're going to be late for class. Can we talk about this later?"
"Class? Kat, you were practically holding hands with the creep!"
She sighed, "he was helping me up. Don't exaggerate."
Knox folded his arms, "look. I know you have a weird truce, but you came back from the dinner miserable, and until the next morning he was a creep. Still is by default if you ask me-"
"Nobody is asking you," she snapped, "careful or I might think you're implying something untoward."
"I wasn't implying anything!" He hissed, "I'm worrying about your well-being like a friend should. Don't turn this into something it isn't."
"Me?" She shook her head, the sudden movement jolting her back in a flash of pain. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them to the outlines of his face in the shadows. "We talked, and everything's sorted. Is it really that difficult to trust me?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose with a noise of frustration, "it's not you I don't trust. You've known him five minutes compared to the six years I have, please just hear me out."
Her mouth fell open.
He blinked, an understanding dawning on his features that she couldn't read in the dim light. "I didn't-"
"No," she cut him off, "I understand perfectly. But by your own logic, why should Chris trade Chet for you? She's known you five minutes compared to her boyfriend who she's known since pre-school."
Regret sliced through her the moment the words left her mouth, but she was already flying out from below alcove and into her seat as the bell rang. The nauseous feeling swirling in her stomach intensified when Knox entered moments later, avoiding her eyes as he slid behind his desk. He paused only to murmur something to Todd who immediately turned his attention to her. She looked away, guilt staining her cheeks scarlet.
By the end of afternoon lessons another two seniors had surrendered to the epidemic sweeping the school. Several younger boys had recovered from what they dubbed the 'three-day horror.' The knowledge of a swift recovery seemed to comfort the older students, but the use of 'horror' was so opposite to the reassurance that overall, it did little to help.
Kat had begun to seek out Todd after class but the wariness in his body language as he spoke to Knox stopped her. The poor soul had enough on his plate with Neil out of action. He didn't need her bringing conflict to the table, evident by Knox storming off as soon as he laid eyes on her. It was well known how much conflict unnerved Todd. With that thought in her mind she headed up to the common room, fighting the dizziness when she moved too quickly.
Only Nuwanda and Cameron were sat in the society's usual corner. The unusual sight dredged up recollections of her fight with Knox, who was nowhere to be seen. With a sigh she turned away, missing the wave Nuwanda sent her way. Frowning, she made her way back to her own room, grabbed the soft school jumper which was folded over the back of her chair and sat down, slipping the garment over her head in an effort to warm herself. It was only now that she was seated that the reason for her antsy feelings became as clear as the guilt saturating every cell in her body. With a groan, she left the safety of her room in pursuit of what was likely a futile mission.
XXXX
Kathleen approached the open door, pausing before she stepped over the threshold. She could see him sitting dejectedly in the window of his dorm, twirling a pen absentmindedly in his hand.
"Knox?" She said quietly, staying in the doorway.
His head turned away from the window. She gasped as the light bathed his features, revealing the hurt in his eyes. "Come to yell at me some more?"
She shook her head. Biting her lip as the tidal wave of regret that had been lapping at her heart all day washed over her once more. "I'm so sorry, Knox," she took a step into the room, fiddling with the too-big sleeves of her jumper; Charlie's jumper, she realised with a jolt. "I was feeling shitty and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. It's no excuse for what I said."
They stared at each other awkwardly as she took another tentative step across the floorboards. "Feel free to kick me out. I just wanted to say how sorry I am. You're perfect for Chris. I was lashing out, I didn't mean it."
The silence between them was painful.
Kathleen forced a small smile onto her face despite the ache in her muscles. She was sure it must have looked more like a grimace. "I-I didn't want us to go to bed without knowing where we were," she murmured, hyper-aware of both his blazing eyes and his lack of communication. "I thought the advice was too good to waste on couples alone."
He rose from the window ledge and pulled her into a tight hug, sighing into her hair. "I'm sorry too," he breathed, arms still locked around her. "I should never have implied that I didn't trust you, or that your judgement was wrong. I was just..."
"Worried?"
"Exactly," Knox pulled away but kept his hands around her elbows as he examined her. "You're like the sister I never had, and I can't lose this over something so stupid."
Her heart melted at the sincerity of his words, "I never want to lose you either. Everyone's stressed and ill, things will be easier soon. If we can make it through this, we'll make it through anything."
A wide grin spread across his lips." Now why aren't you in bed, Missy? Your eyes are red, you keep rubbing your temples, and I can hear your congestion a mile off. I can't believe I was dumb enough not to see it before. Harassing the sick? What was I thinking?"
"Oh no, I'm not sick enough to go to bed," she protested.
"Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not."
"Uh-uh."
"Nuh-uh."
Their eyes met, and they dissolved into giggles. Kat's bubbly laughter soon dissolved into a cough which she tried to smother.
He stared expectantly at her.
"The common room?" She suggested.
He paused, realising it was the best he would get before reluctantly agreeing. "One sneeze," he warned, "and I'm dragging you up to bed myself."
She rolled her eyes, suppressing another cough. "Yes, Dad. "
* Lamia, John Keats (1820)